“Mam!” Maura said. “What happened to you?”

  Maura hurried to Caragh’s side, but her mother raised her uncovered arm in a halting motion.

  “You really shouldn’t see this,” Caragh said. “I looked once last week while Herself was redressing the wound and I fainted.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Maura said.

  “I grew careless, daughter. I was lucky to keep the rest of me in one piece.”

  The rest of the group shuffled inside behind Donal, allowing his eyes time to snoop around the cottage while its owner remained outside.

  It was the staircase in front of the threshold that first caught his eye. Broad and wooden, it seemed more at home inside Doe Castle or Mountsandel than in a cozy dwelling. The windows along the back wall of the great room also strayed from convention. They were shorter and wider and ran the entire length of the room—save for the center where a chimney split them. Small bowls and pots packed the sills, each with various plants peeking over their rims. A heavy oaken table stood under the windows on the right. Two basins sat at either end of the table, and a loose pile of utensils lay between them. A large harp stood under the left bank of windows, its golden body, neck and pillar all reflecting the morning’s light onto the nearby staircase.

  Ana had pushed a six-foot table against the left wall. One of its benches now sat next to the hay bails supporting the convalescing woman next to the front wall.

  Caragh squeezed her daughter’s hand and surveyed the rest of the visitors.

  “Look at you,” Caragh said to Siobhan. “Siobhan MacSweeney. Had I not recognized you by your mother’s face, it would have been by the way you carry yourself—every bit your father, that.”

  Caragh locked eyes with Donal. Her face dropped into a sad smile. “Dear, you must be Donal. You have no measure of your uncle’s pride in you. Her eyelids narrowed and her brow wrinkled as her eyes shifted to Brendan. “Finn,” she said with a sigh, “you’ve given up much to raise your brother. You look twenty-six if you’re a day. Still handsome, of course.”

  “That’s because I am twenty-six,” Brendan said, his words quiet and uneven. “More importantly, I’m not Finn. My name’s Brendan.” He threw a thumb at Brigid. “I’m her brother, in fact.”

  “Forgive me,” Caragh said as she looked around the room. “Where is Finn, then? Yer wan here can’t be Maeve, the sorceress look is upon her.”

  “So it is,” Siobhan said. “We split from each other during our journey to Hy-Brasil—unintentionally, of course. We believe they, with one other friend, are rattling around in Tír fo Thuinn. Along with your husband.”

  “He did come,” Caragh whispered. She shook herself out of an idle head bob and glanced at Maura. “I figured you would have dragged them across The Living Sea to get your da first.”

  Donal smiled. “She certainly tried.” He couldn’t take his eyes off the blanket covering Caragh. “You’re really growing an arm under there?”

  Siobhan hit the side of his arm. “Apologies,” she told Caragh. “It appears we brought some livestock with us.”

  Caragh’s smile did not part her lips, keeping the chuckle in the back of her throat. “Not at all,” she said. “I drove Sorcha mad with my questions after crossing over.”

  “Will you ever tell us what happened?” Maura asked. “Was it done by man or beast?"

  “Neither,” Caragh said, pointing her chin out the front window. “It was one of her magic doorways.”

  “How does that happen?” Brigid asked.

  “It closed before she was clear of it,” Brendan said, checking with Ciara and receiving a nod in reply. “You were jammy to lose just an arm from it.”

  Caragh nodded. “It did close on me,” she said, “but it was the only way to save me. I grew careless in my curiosity.” She noticed the unsatisfied expression on her daughter’s face and blinked slowly.

  “I often sneak around the town—if you call it that—that surrounds the Stag Palace. During my last visit I noticed there were fewer of them running about. Instead of hiding as a bird in branches above the barracks or near palace windows, I ducked in closer as myself.

  “But I was too bold. They had laid a trap in the ring of buildings surrounding the palace and I sprung it. I had no room or to shift into a bird but I slipped out all the same. I called for Herself to save me when I thought I was clear of danger—”

  “—Hang on, mam,” Maura said. “You called her? She went with you?”

  “No,” Caragh said. “It’s more of a signal than a conversation.” She pointed to the benchless table. “I use one of those stones on the table for that. I use the other to signal Murrough when we need to speak.

  “So I signaled my friend, but it turns out that I wasn’t clear of danger. A warrior grabbed my arm and pulled as the door closed.”

  “Friend, am I?” Ana said, entering the room behind Ciara, Brendan and Brigid.

  “I have to admit, I’m wile curious, Ana,” Siobhan said. “How are you growing back an entire arm? Special plants? Magic? Both?”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “‘Ana?’” Caragh asks. Ana’s eyes darted to the ground as she walked to the table against the back wall. “Right. Of course,” Caragh said with a smile.

  “‘Of course,’ she says,” Ciara said. “Mind sharing with the rest of us what is so painfully obvious?”

  “I go by a few names, child,” Ana said to Siobhan. “‘Ana’ to those who don’t know better. ‘Anu’ to those who do.” Her eyes met with each visitor as she held silent for a moment. “And Danu to those who know best.”

  The hush confused Donal. Finn’s never here when I need him.

  Ciara broke the silence by banging Brendan’s shoulder against the front wall with a push. “Feck off,” she said to him. “Does that mean—”

  “—I believe it does,” Brendan said, bumping Ciara with his left shoulder.

  “How is this possible?” Siobhan asked.

  “You’ll have to be more specific,” Ana said.

  “Is she serious?” Maura said with a scoff. “Fine, how is it possible that, of all the people over the centuries, you pull my mother off the side of the road to get your messages.” She looked at Siobhan. “Every other question we’d have leads to that one, you know.”

  Siobhan nodded. Maura’s face cooled by a few degrees.

  “There’s a problem with your question,” Ana said. “Caragh is not the first person I’ve sought for… help. As for her talents, I can’t think of someone more suited for subterfuge than a child of Midir.”

  Donal sighed loud enough to draw Siobhan’s attention.

  “One of The Dagda’s sons.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “It wouldn’t kill you to read one of your brother’s books once in a while.”

  “It might,” Donal said.

  Siobhan’s face darkened. “It will when I clatter you over the head with it.”

  “In all seriousness,” Donal said, “there’s been a question that’s been bugging me.” He canted his head toward Ana. “I can’t think of a better place and time to get it answered. If Mrs. MacRannell is a child of Midir, why don’t just call her a child of the Dagda? Or why is Maeve a child of Oisín and not Finn mac Cumhaill? Why aren’t calling ourselves children of Herself here, like the ancient ones did?”

  “The lass is right,” Ana said. “You’re in sore need of reading a book. They call themselves my ‘people,’ not my ‘children.’ They’re really children of that Nemed fella. When those raiders scattered his people to the wind, a group of them fled north. I used to wander the planes and the worlds, and I came upon them while visiting a small set of islands in the middle of the sea. In truth, I took pity on them.”

  “Pity?” Ciara asked. “What on earth for?”

  “The were unfairly outmatched,” Ana said. “The raiders who drove Nemed’s people from their lands once lived in my world. They didn't come to magic naturally. They learned it.”

  “—Hang on,” Brendan said. “Sorry. Did you just tell us that the Fomori were from Tír na nóg?”

  “I told you no such thing,” Ana said. “You know yourself by now that my world is bigger than this land. But it’s here that I brought Eochaid and that bright-faced brother of his, along with the rest of his people. I taught them some of what I know, and with it they grew their families, built great cities and lived here for countless years. Some of them grew restless and returned to your world.”

  Her eyes fell to the floor. What parts Donal could see through her eyelashes were glassy.

  “I never understood it, frankly, as lovely as your world is. In the end, there’s always a part of you that leans towards home.”

  “Who taught the raiders—the Formori?” Brendan asked. “Who became their patron?”

  “Matron is more like it,” Ana said. “I know full well who—”

  “—Does it matter?” Brigid asked. “To our mission? To our journey? Or is this merely a scholar’s curiosity?”

  Ana’s eyes met Caragh’s, and the two stared silently at each other for several seconds. “It does not matter,” Ana said.

  “Can we keep calling you Ana?” Brigid asked. “I’m struggling to fathom the other two.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Grand,” Brigid said. “Ana, we were told that Maura’s mam here can lead us to both the treasures and the way home. Is that true?”

  Ana bit her lip as her eyes darted to the empty spaces in the room. Donal and Ciara were the first members of the group to fidget in the silence. Oh no, Donal thought.

  “Not precisely,” Ana said. She held up both hands to calm Brigid and Ciara’s reaction. “Not as simply as you’ve stated. The Claimh Solais sits safely in the city of Findias. Its steward can bestow it upon another. He is beyond their reach, however.”

  “Beyond their reach?” Siobhan asked. “What about the Spear?”

  “To the best of our knowledge, the Gae Assail lies deep in a cave to the north,” Caragh said. “Guarded by some fierce nasty things.”

  “What about our return home?” Donal asked.

  “I’m afraid I don’t have the solution to that problem,” Ana said. She waved a hand toward the table next to the fireplace. “Not yet, anyway. I’ve spent the past few months in my old scrolls, testing ingredients and combinations.”

  “But if you’re, y’know, Danu,” Siobhan said with a slight shake of her head, “how much figuring does it take?”

  “You’re mortals,” Ana said. “Children of the Tuatha you may be, but you’re still mortal.”

  “So was The Dagda,” Ciara said. “You said so yourself.”

  Ana nodded. “But they spent many years growing in knowledge, widsom and power. We don’t have that luxury this time, do we?”

  She allowed enough time for her words to sink in and sighed. “I have more bad news, sadly. My supplies have dwindled. Nine of you came over in total, correct?”

  Siobhan nodded.

  “Then we are indeed out of supplies.”

  Donal stepped toward the back wall and looked over the various plants leaning toward the window. Their new four-legged companion had worked its way around the rear of the cottage, following its nose into the forest. Birch, hazel and oak trees spread out in all directions with no obvious signs of paths or clearings. “These ingredients you need,” he said, “they’re not lying about these woods, are they? It takes time and travel to get them.”

  The corners of Ana’s mouth curled upward. “Clever lad.”

  Siobhan waved her hands. “Enough of this for now,” she said. “First thing’s first. Is it possible to open a door so that our missing comrades can rejoin us?”

  “Of course, lass,” Ana said. “It would go more smoothly if they were near a draft.”

  “Of wind?” Brendan asked.

  “I’m speaking of the places where the veil between planes and other worlds is thinnest. I've heard it called a 'tether' as well, but I like 'draft.' These locations allow for the strongest links.”

  “But we have no idea where in those lands our people have gone,” Brigid said. “Or if they’re still there. They could be halfway to where we’re standing by now.”

  Ana pursed the right half of her mouth. “That’d be quite a feat for even a native of this world,” she said. “The good news is there’s a strong draft near my home, and I know of several places we can check.”

  Brigid patted Siobhan’s shoulder. The women exchanged the brightest smiles since their arrival in the Otherworld. “We’re so close,” Brigid said. “We’re going to get them back!”

  Ana pursed the right half of her mouth. “Calm yourselves. We’re going nowhere until I redress Caragh’s wounds.” Her eyes slid from Donal’s head to Brendan’s leg. “And tend to yours. Tuck yourselves in for some breakfast while you wait.”